


A Decomposing Solstice

by Mersayde



Series: My Darlings [5]
Category: Growing A Sun
Genre: Angst, Hopeful undertones, Other, mention of dead relative, mild hallucinations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 07:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14515485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mersayde/pseuds/Mersayde
Summary: What is the sky without the soil to keep it grounded?





	A Decomposing Solstice

The sucky thing about space, Ez concludes, is knowing how inconceivably vast it is, because once you understand that, you understand how inconceivably insignificant _you_ are.

Ez wants to be alone, he wants to be another indefinite body in a universe of the known. He doesn’t want acknowledgment, he doesn’t want kind words, he doesn’t want help. He just wants to forget and to be forgotten.

He feels like his grief is trapped inside of him, weighed down by the anchor at his feet. He feels like everything is forced to cycle through his system. Anger, fear, emptiness, and all his knotty emotions that demand to bleed through his pores are forced to settle back into him.

He’s tired of carrying what seems like the weight of everyone he’s ever disappointed on his shoulders. But he works so he can forget that he’s the sole cause for the world that’s crumbling around him, and he studies until the words burn into the back of his mind, until he forgets that there are voices that already occupy that space.

For once he would like to feel like he is worth the footprints he leaves in the soil and the presence he has in others lives. For once he’d like to believe that he is beyond the atoms that make him into what he is, that he can fall amongst the stars.

But he can’t sleep, he can’t eat, he can’t stop thinking: he has to be more useful, he has to be better. He _has_ to be enough. He overworks himself, taking on more than he can handle all for the sake of a worth he’s never defined. He’s trying to figure out an equation with no solution, an experiment with no hypothesis. It’s just aimless wandering, just wasted energy.

How does one adjust when the planets are out of orbit? When the stars are out of alignment? When the universe is eternally compressing in? How do you adjust when all you’ve known is the vulnerability of falling out of place?

He’s scribbling onto paper and the numbers begin to jumble together, forming a big cluster of blue across his eyes. The ink no longer catering to the words he needs to commit to memory, but to the anger swelling in his chest, taking up the space where his lungs should be. 

His fingers are red in rage and his eyes are glazed over in pain. It feels like his body is out of his head and his mind is pulling strings that aren’t there. It feels like the world around him is no longer tangible, is no longer connected to him or the ground he stands on. He feels every modicum of his sanity dematerializing. He feels every ounce of hope dry out under the grim dimensions of reality.

He longs to forget how much his mom meant to him, forget how much he loved her. She was his first sun, his first moon and stars. She was everything the universe wished it could be. But phenomenas of such caliber seem to never last because things die, wilt. Stars morph into black holes, sinking everything orbiting around them into a dark abyss. Ez feels like he died with her, feels like she took a huge part of his soul into that grave.

_Why did you leave?_

__

__

_Why did you leave me?_

He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until his voice cracks, until his ears pop, until his cheeks are warm with tears. He doesn’t remember leaving his door open, but concerned eyes are looking down at him.

“Mom?” he cries out in shock, clutches at the hands holding him steady. Everything is out of place. The earth is off of its axis, the stars must be out of alignment. Because he swears its her. Swears she’s here with him. She looks the same; young, beautiful, and full of love.

And he glances at her again, wants to remember her how she is now, but sees the blood that coats he body and it paralyzes him. _This_ , he remembers. He remembers the slight exhaustion in his legs and lung from running home with his friends after school. He remembers the feeling of dread that enveloped his heart. He _remembers_. And how could he ever forget?

It’s always there. Always creeping back into the crevices of his mind.

He doesn’t know what to do. There’s a violent shade of red everywhere, spilling over the edge of the tub, pooling on the floor. 

“I’m here, Ez. I’m _here._ ” He hears in the distance, not his mom, not his aunt, but it’s sharp enough to cut through this fog. The familiar image of his room starts to piece itself together. His face against a chest. Something is different. His aunt didn’t comfort him like this. His aunt didn’t feel warm like this. She didn’t sound like this. Moments full of panic pass until he’s aware of his safety, until he feels his body decompress and his nerves settle.

A cry breaks from his mouth. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He’s tired of fighting, tired of feeling like every second he’s alive is a second past his expiration date. He wants to be as alone as he feels. Wants to drown in his sadness, wants to erase all the evidence of his existence. How can the earth continue to spin, when everything is in ruins, how can it continue to move forward when everything is falling backwards?

How is the sun still rising when his mother will never do the same?

He’s exhausted himself. The aftermath is daunting, a hazy numbness creeps up into his limbs. He holds on tighter to the body wrapped around him. Scared it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

Ez turns into the hold searching for a hug, feeling relieved at the familiarity. The eyes aren’t his moms, but belong to someone just as important.

Tera. She’s bright and warm and has a fire burning inside of her even if she refuses to see it. She tries to take the emptiness in him away, tries to make him forget all the things he has burdened others with. She _tries_.

“You’re okay,” she whispers. Ez knows he’s not okay because okay doesn’t look like this, okay doesn’t feel like this, okay doesn’t constantly steal pieces of your heart and bones and sanity. Okay isn’t a perilous storm with no end. Okay isn’t desperately grappling for breath. He _knows_ , but he still tries to force her words to be what he needs.

He likes to think that he loves her so much the moon is jealous. And that it’s enough to keep gravity from settling in his chest. He likes to think Gabe is the brother he must’ve had in a past life. He thinks about how nice it is to look at those two and for his heart to whisper: _family_

Something he thought he’d never find again.

Ez wants the answers to questions beyond his control. He can count all the planets in the universe and recite them like a poem only he knows the rhythm to. He can count every drop of water in the ocean and compare it to the tears that shape his cheeks. But that won’t stop the dread. That won’t stop the guilt. That won’t stop the confusion from sinking into his pores and spreading like a parasite.

This sadness is something he can’t get rid of, something that burrows deep inside the cracks of his broken body.

This sadness is an immovable object and he has yet to find the unstoppable force to bring a sense of balance. Who will tell Ez that the force that cannot be stopped is not in the hours of sleep he loses. That each bag under his eyes, each sorrow that has spilt over from his lips, does not build an unstoppable force. Instead it is something that is inside of you, that you have to pull out of its shell. That you have to find the fire that burns a little brighter in the darkness. It is something that is _you,_ that keeps you going.

Who is going to tell Ez that, yes, footprints ultimately disturb the snow, but to take a second to look back and enjoy all the patterns your presence has created, that if you see it just right the suns rays still dance off of each individual particle? That the dirt under your fingernails may be unappealing, but it is proof that you are still trying, still fighting against a world that wants you to do anything but. That these things he despises so much are the things he should be proud of, he needs to know that his existence is fruitful and giving, one he should not be afraid of.

Sometimes the answers aren’t hidden behind the stars.

Sometimes your problems can’t be solved by the formation of galaxies.

Most of the time your problems are here,

Connected to you in ways you don’t want.

Like the dirt under your fingernails,

Like the scars that refuse to heal,

Like the anger sitting beneath your skin trying to claw its way out.

Sometimes things cannot be swayed by the gravitational pull of the moon,

Or blinded by the sun.

Sometimes there is no rhythm to pain, it comes, it goes, and it stays.

One day, Ez will realize that even though the universe is forever expanding, so is he. That there are just as many beautiful, indescribable phenomenas that happen inside of us, to us, like those galaxies weightless in time. One day, Ez will realize that the hollow spaces in his bones can always be replaced with bright promises and vivid tenderness. One day, Ez will feel the sunsets pass through him, and he will know that he's okay. That he’s going to be okay, because as long as the sun rises, so will he.

**Author's Note:**

> Why do I keep writing about my babies in pain?????
> 
> Because I'm heartless. I’m sorry.
> 
> Comments? Kudos? Favorite parts?


End file.
